


Ship of the Desert

by Siria



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-05-16
Packaged: 2018-11-01 08:32:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10918155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siria/pseuds/Siria
Summary: At first, FN-2817 thinks it's the heat.





	Ship of the Desert

**Author's Note:**

  * For [musesfool](https://archiveofourown.org/users/musesfool/gifts).



> Ficlet for musesfool, written to the prompt "Rey/Finn, pirate AU"

At first, FN-2817 thinks it's the heat. He's in the middle of a desert, sand in his shoes and salt on his tongue. He's still walking, but he knows the kind of death that's already stalking him: solitary and parched. It's the kind of death that leaches curiosity as quickly as it does moisture, so FN-2817 watches the tall sails move towards him through the sand dunes with a kind of leaden acceptance. After all, a mirage in the middle of the desert is much less interesting than the ferocity of his thirst.   
  
But the sails keep coming, and FN-2817 realises he can hear the wind buffeting the bleached canvas, and then the dull rush of sand being pushed to one side by a prow of wood and metal. It really is a ship sailing through the desert, and by the time FN-2817 has managed to work up some surprise at that, the ship has slowed and stopped. It lists slightly against a massive nearby sand dune; at an angle, its tall sails cast a shadow over FN-2817.   
  
It's not really any cooler in the shade, but being out of the full force of this planet's merciless sun seems like a luxury, a blessing. FN-2817 sags to his knees—exhaustion, relief—and blinks as he sees a slight figure rappel down the side of the ship and approach him. The person is covered head to foot in wrappings of grey and brown that billow and flap in the desert wind; from a belt at their waist hang pouches and vials and what is, unmistakably, a wickedly curved sword.

A little voice at the back of FN-2817's mind whispers to him about one of the last news bursts the cruiser had received: requests from Central Command for extra resources to combat an up-tick in pirate activity on the planets of the Jakku system. Three supply transports intercepted in as many months, a troop transport sabotaged, the Order harried into retreating from an entire moon.   
  
_Pirates,_ he thinks, and closes his eyes, hoping for at least a quicker end than thirst because he's got nothing left that anyone could steal—but then there's a small, cool hand on his cheek and FN-2817 blinks to find the pirate holding out a full waterskin.   
  
"Sip," the pirate says firmly; a young voice, female, probably human. "Not too much, you'll make yourself sick." He knows she's right, but even the first drops of lukewarm water on FN-2817's tongue have him coughing.   
  
He pauses, breathes, drinks some more, and when he's drained the waterskin FN-2817 forces himself to his feet. The ship looms over both of them; FN-2817 catches glimpses of faces looking down at them from the deck far above. He sees no sign of guns trained at him; none of this is what he expected. He sways on his feet, clears his throat, and croaks out the first thing that comes to mind: "What kind of pirate saves a stranger?"  
  
The pirate pulls back her face wrappings: there's mischief and determination both in the curve of her smile. "A pirate queen."


End file.
